


Not Alone We Fly

by hannahsoapy



Series: things I scribbled when I should've been studying [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Hot Chocolate, M/M, Slow Burn, Tea Consent, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Wingfic, they're so oblivious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 05:39:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17319029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahsoapy/pseuds/hannahsoapy
Summary: The memory burned fresh again in his brain-bloody feathers-and he shuddered, and snatched the blanket off the floor where he'd kicked it in his sleep.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A little seed for this was started shortly after I wrote Whose Feet Must Walk on the Ground. What can I say, I guess I like pairing Tony with super-soldiers.
> 
> Also, if you haven't seen the 'Tea Consent' video, you might be a little confused when I reference it. Here's a link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fGoWLWS4-kU

What Bucky didn't tell Steve was that the fall from the train wasn't what had crippled his wing. To be fair, Steve didn't even know he had one bum wing. He kept them both tightly folded against his back, his deficiency concealed by his messy black feathers.

It had been Hydra. Or the Russians. He wasn't actually clear on who had done it, he just knew it wasn't the fall.

At some point, he'd broken programming.

He'd tried to fly away.

If he hadn't made it so far, perhaps they wouldn't have done it.

He was brought back in, bleeding, bruised, and defiant. His left wing had already been damaged; he'd taken a hit that had ultimately dropped him from the sky, and there was a gaping hole in the middle of his wing that went straight through.

His handler had smiled cruelly at it. "A pity, but I suppose now you will match."

And then, from behind him, something sliced into the wing.

He could do nothing but arch his back in a silent scream of pain, as, suddenly, there was a wet slap of bloody flesh and feathers hitting the floor, and his back was lighter.

Amidst the pain of the loss, his handler's words reached him from a distance.

"Bind that up. Put him in the chair."

An hour later, he'd forgot that his wing was ever whole.

* * *

He woke up, panting softly and quickly. Sweat trickled down his back, but he felt cold. His one complete wing instinctively drifted forward, to warm him, but the moment his eye caught the movement, he snapped it back into its place, folded snugly against his back.

The memory burned fresh again in his brain- _bloody feathers_ -and he shuddered, and snatched the blanket off the floor where he'd kicked it in his sleep.

He didn't want to bother Steve. For once, he'd managed to not wake him up during a nightmare, and he'd rather it stayed that way. Steve meant well, but he always felt guilty when he woke him up.

Steve deserved better than a best friend who couldn't remember half the things they'd done together, and had oceans of blood on his hands.

(Whether or not Steve could argue that it wasn't his fault, that he'd been brainwashed into doing it, didn't matter. It was a fact.)

He swung his legs out of bed silently, ears open for any sound of stirring from Steve's room. He only relaxed a little once their apartment door shut behind him.

Out of complete lack of any other place to go, he went up to the common area. It was empty at this time of night. The wide windows looking out on the city drew him closer, the bright night lights of the buildings shining into the dark room enticingly.

He shivered a little at the thought of swooping over them, and forced his mind to be blank.

The lights and the quiet were soothing, and eventually he was starting to feel like he might fall asleep if he crawled back in bed, when he heard the soft whoosh of the elevator doors opening. He didn't move, content in his dark corner of the room, and also certain that whomever was about to enter didn't want to be scared to death by the Winter Soldier in the middle of the night-or any time, for that matter. He was pretty sure nobody wanted to be in his company, accidental or otherwise.

The person that exited the elevator emanated a soft blue glow; he saw it reflecting in the windows, and shrank further back. Stark was the last person who would want to see him.

He watched the man's reflection in the glass, unable to stop himself from admiring the burgundy and burnished gold wings the man sported, and although they were drooping tiredly, and looked bedraggled from Stark's terrible self-care habits, they were beautiful. One of his metal fingers twitched at the thought of running his fingers over the feathers to groom them.

It had been decades since he'd groomed his own.

When he'd broken away from Hydra at last, after the Helicarrier disaster, he hadn't thought much of not being able to fly. It had been his reality for so long.

But in Romania, he'd stopped running for a stretch, and started filling his notebooks. At first, it was only flashes of Steve. Then it was his little sister, the Commandoes, Peggy, Howard. The day he remembered the sensation of flying, he'd stood in the bathroom and stared at his back in the mirror in surprise. He couldn't remember the last time he'd stretched his wings out.

So he did.

One glimpse of his shorn wing, and he'd spent the rest of the day huddled in a corner, shaking and nauseous.

He never consciously brought them out again, and especially not the left one.

"Want a drink?"

He tensed, and turned slowly. Stark, standing there as if he didn't realize what a big deal it was that he'd managed to sneak up on the _Winter Soldier,_ held out a mug of… he sniffed curiously. Hot chocolate?

"Sorry," Stark said. "I was making some and Jarvis said you were up here, so I thought-" The hand holding the mug started to lower, and even his wings drooped a little more.

His hand flashed out, stopping just short of the grabbing the mug. Stark looked at him, startled.

"Thanks," he said gruffly, and took the mug from Stark's loose hand.

Stark blinked at him, and shrugged. "Uh, you're welcome."

He stared down into the chocolate pool in his mug. "I mean, for everything. You didn't… you didn't hafta do any of this."

Stark didn't seem to know what to do with his words.

"Uh, you're welcome," he finally said. "If you really want to thank me, though, you should let me look at your arm. It's seriously a work of art, but I bet I can make it work ten times better."

Bucky eyed him speculatively, and took a sip of his drink to avoid answering. (It was like ambrosia, or something, it was so good.)

It wasn't that he doubted Stark's ability to fine-tune his arm, and he actually found he wasn't so opposed to the thought of him poking around in there. He wasn't asking to mess with his wings. Wouldn't really even be getting near them. He wasn't totally comfortable with it, of course, but he did owe the man, and he felt like he could trust him. It was a strange, foreign feeling that so far, only Steve had earned.

"Ten times better, huh," Bucky said. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Bucky repeated. Stark seemed not to believe his own ears.

"Wait, really? You'll let me? Oh my god, I didn't think you'd say yes, this is great! Tomorrow? Yeah, tomorrow, come on down, Jarvis will help you if you don't know where it is."

Bucky nodded blankly in the face of Stark's torrent of words. The man had produced a tablet from somewhere and was typing as he talked.

"Shit, I'm never going to fall asleep now. This is too exciting."

He paused for a moment to grin widely at him, and then hurried off, before Bucky could recover his breath.

* * *

"I'm going to Stark's workshop," he informed Steve matter-of-factly, the next morning. Steve disguised his surprise well, but his navy blue wings went very still.

"I didn't even know you'd seen him recently," Steve said, although it was more of a question.

He shrugged. It was too many words to explain. Steve seemed to get that he wouldn't receive a more detailed answer, because he didn't push, but he still looked troubled as he got ready for their morning run. He was oddly quiet on their run, too, not that Bucky minded all that much, but it meant that Steve was _thinking_ about what he'd said.

Then, Steve had gotten a look on his face, just as they got back to the Tower. It was a look Bucky remembered calling, once, his 'crusading' face. He was curious as to who'd earned it this time.

It was all too easy to follow Steve without him knowing. Super-hearing, his ass. Bucky trailed him all the way up to the common room kitchen, and he never faltered.

Stark was the target of Steve's lecture today, and although he'd missed the first bit, it was clear they were discussing him.

"Tony, you can't just coerce him like that, you know he's not always-"

"Yeah, yeah, Cap, I've had the consent lecture. I asked, he said yes. Now I can _make_ him a cup of tea. He can still tell me he doesn't want the tea."

"What?" Steve's tone was clearly bewildered. Bucky had no idea what the tea thing was either, but Stark's point was made. "No, look, he might have just said that, he might not actually want to-"

"I want to," Bucky said, moving to stand in the doorway to the kitchen. Steve jumped a little, but Tony jerked violently in surprise, spilling coffee down his front. The engineer hissed, quickly putting down the mug and pulling the front of his shirt away from his skin.

"Not cool, Ice Queen," Tony complained, pouting at his now half-empty mug. His wings flapped once slowly, as if they, too, were mourning the loss of the coffee.

"Sorry," he muttered, and part of his brain absently noticed that Stark's hair was all mussed and stuck-up, and… cute? He wrinkled his nose in confusion, unsure where that had come from.

"You're sure?" Steve asked, earnestly. His wings fluttered anxiously.

"Yeah."

"Oh," said Steve, looking relieved, but still worried. "I-sorry, Buck, I just worry, y'know, and-"

"S'fine, Steve," Bucky cut him off. It wasn't really fine, but he was going to pretend it was.

Steve opened his mouth, either to apologize again, or offer to follow him down to the workshop, both of which would end with him getting a metal fist to the face.

"Great!" Stark bounced over and grabbed his arm. "We'd better get going then. Lots of work to do, see you later Capsicle!"

Bucky was too startled to protest as he was dragged into the elevator.

"Thanks," he said, as Jarvis took them down, without Stark having to say a word. Stark rolled his eyes.

"You looked about to punch Steve's jaw out," Stark said, deftly avoiding the thanks. Bucky humphed.

"He's such a stubborn punk, his jaw'd prob'ly break my arm," he muttered sullenly. Stark barked a laugh as the elevator slowed to a stop on the lab floor.

"You know what, I don't think you're wrong," Stark chuckled, shaking his head as he led him into this workshop.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I give you all the fluffs, guys. All the fluffs.

Having Stark work on his arm was nice, Bucky found. The genius was incredibly careful and precise with every part and tool, even more so after he discovered that Bucky could actually feel what he was doing in there.

"Are you… feeling this?" Stark had asked incredulously, after Bucky flinched when he'd made contact with a sensitive wire.

"Uh, yeah," he'd replied nervously, irrationally thinking he was in trouble.

"Oh my god, really?" Stark had cried, looking horrified at the work he'd done, his wings flapping anxiously. "I'm so sorry, how bad does this all hurt? I could give you a nerve blocker while I put it back together, it might help-"

"No," Bucky had said sharply. "No drugs. It's fine. Doesn't hurt much."

"Okay, that's… right, sure," Stark had said, still looking flustered, but calming down. "No drugs, but you have to tell me when something hurts."

Bucky had thought about lying, for a moment, and then Stark had levelled him with a look. He'd swallowed over the lump in his throat and said, "Okay."

He was true to his word, although Stark was exceedingly careful after that, taking much more time than he had before, and pausing occasionally to confirm he didn't feel anything. It really didn't hurt all that much, but Stark stopped every time he felt a twinge, tweaking and fine-tuning each spot until he reported no pain.

By the time Stark was finished, his arm and shoulder felt a thousand times better. Not only was it much smoother and more responsive, whatever he'd done had taken a lot of the pressure and strain off his shoulder and neck where the metal was fused to his muscle and bone.

Bucky told Stark all of this, and watched him in fascination as the billionaire blushed, and awkwardly tried to sidestep the praise. It was endearing, he thought, musingly.

And then, Stark said what he'd least expected to hear.

"If you want to hang out down here, you're welcome to," Stark glanced quickly at him and then away, his wings high and tight. Nervous. "Anytime, I mean. I don't mind your company."

Bucky didn't miss his wording. He stared at him, unable to think of anything to say other than 'thanks', which he felt like he'd already said dozens of times, when Stark's stomach abruptly growled. There was an awkward silence.

"Wait here," Bucky said gruffly, knowing Stark would probably run off to another project anyway. "I'll be back."

"Whatever you say, Terminator," he heard Stark answer, as the elevator doors slid shut behind him.

* * *

He wasn't going to go. He'd brought Stark dinner the night before, and then (painfully awkwardly) made excuses and left. He hadn't intended on taking Stark up on his offer to 'hang out'.

It felt like giving in to something dangerous, but Bucky was weak, and Steve was called out on a mission for the week, so after futilely attempting to entertain himself, he went down to Stark's workshop the next day, and the next, and the next. Watching Stark work was fascinating. Bucky'd always been a science fiction kind of guy (he was the one who dragged Steve to the Stark Expo way back when, not that the punk actually appreciated it), and everything down in the lab had him captivated.

Somehow, Bucky was also an object of fascination for Stark's bots, who followed him around the lab curiously, trying to look at his arm. Stark was constantly scolding them fondly about bothering him, and although Bucky really didn't mind them, he knew Stark needed their assistance around the shop for other things.

Bucky wished he could be of more use to the man, but all he could boast of having was a high school diploma from before the war. He tried to follow along while Stark was talking, and maybe he was picking some stuff up, but it wasn't enough.

So, he contented himself with bullying the man into eating food. That was something he could do very well, he knew, recalling vague memories of doing the same to Steve when he was sick with one thing or other.

After four days of hanging around the workshop, Bucky realized he'd seen him sleep once. And by once, he meant a nap that had lasted barely three hours.

Obviously, this could not continue. Stark was responsible for all the equipment that the Avengers used, so it was incredibly important that he be rested while he worked on it. Not to mention he was also an Avenger himself, so his own well-being was also a vital concern.

(Bucky's fondness for the man had nothing to do with it. At least, that's what he told himself.)

The next time Stark asked for coffee, with bags under his eyes and wings nearly dragging on the floor from exhaustion, Bucky brought him decaf.

Stark crashed thirty-seven and a half minutes later on his workbench, forehead resting comfortably on a wrench.

"Time for bed, Stark," Bucky said, coming up behind him and gently touching his arm.

"You jerk," Stark slurred sleepily, lifting his head to look at him. Bucky kept his face still, although he desperately wanted to laugh at the imprint the wrench had left in Stark's skin.

"I didn't do nothin'," Bucky protested.

"Decaf," Stark accused, poking his finger at him. The effect was ruined by his grease-smeared face, messy hair, and droopy eyelids.

"I didn't do nothin' you didn't need," Bucky amended, fighting back a smile. "Now, you goin' to sleep down here or upstairs, Stark?"

Bucky suddenly found himself with an armful of billionaire engineer and had to quickly adjust to catch him before he toppled over.

"Upstairs," Stark demanded, snuggling closer into Bucky's chest. After a momentary pause where his brain shorted out, he responded, "Sure thing."

He hoisted him up with one arm, and Stark obliged, looping his arms around Bucky's neck, fingers digging into his sweater, just avoiding the tips of his wings. Bucky nearly dropped him in surprise, startled by the touch, so near to his wings, but then Stark hummed contentedly in his ear, and he found himself relaxing.

"What're you doing?" Stark asked him, blearily, as they got on the elevator.

"Getting you to bed?" Bucky said, confused. Hadn't they already established that it was bedtime?

"No, you're-why're you calling me that?" Stark's words were slurred with sleep.

"Stark?" Bucky asked him, bemused.

"Mmm. Tony," Stark mumbled, nonsensically.

"That's your name," Bucky agreed, thinking that the genius must have been far more tired than he'd been letting on.

"No," Stark said, lifting himself up a little so that he could look Bucky in the eyes. Bucky felt the stubble of his beard scrape his neck and shivered. "Call me Tony."

"Okay," Bucky said, feeling his heart beat louder in his chest. "Tony."

Stark- _Tony_ -smiled, and burrowed back into his shoulder. His wings stretched out and wrapped themselves around both of them. Bucky held his breath as the feathers caressed him softly.

It had been so long since he'd touched someone else's wings. That was mostly his own fault; he shied away from everyone, even Steve, when he attempted little brushing gestures, but this was different. He couldn't avoid Tony's wings if he wanted to, although, he realized, slowly letting his breath out, he didn't really want to.

(It was nice. Almost too nice.)

Jarvis quietly opened the door to the penthouse when they arrived, and he carried Tony, totally passed out now, inside, following the soft illumination of the lights Jarvis lit up for him. He laid Tony down on his bed, although it took some gentle persuasion to get the billionaire off of him. He pulled up a blanket from the bottom of the bed and draped it over Tony's curled-up body.

Bucky lingered, for a minute, just watching Tony's glowing chest rise and fall, before he mentally shook himself, and left.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so you know how last chapter was all fluffy? Well, let's see, where is it… ah, here we go. Angst dial: 110%

Whenever the Avengers flew, Bucky liked to watch. It was hard to ignore them when they were out there, anyway-the Tower was pretty much ninety percent windows on the outside. It was easy to watch them swooping around in their maneuvers from any level. Stark had a dozen balconies, too, that he could have taken advantage of, if he'd wanted a front-row view.

But that would mean the team would know he was watching them, and he really didn't want that. As it was, he grunted noncommittally or gave no response when Steve asked (every damn time) if he wanted to join them flying, and then as soon as Steve left, he was seated near the closest pane of treated glass, pretending he wasn't staring at them with growing longing and self-hatred.

He'd analyze their flight patterns, preferred maneuvers and perches, as if by distracting himself he could hide the truth: he didn't belong out there anymore.

Steve he knew best, and it hit somewhere that ached in his heart when he watched him twirling and rolling midair. There were memories he had of seeing the same thing, but from above or below, of them spinning around together. He could never watch for him for long without feeling like his stomach was going to drop out of him, or his throat was going to close.

Thor was all big swoops and long soars, not much for quickness. That was Natasha's game, along with pretty much everything else, because she liked to change up her style unpredictably. He suspected if Clint was ever needed in close mid-air combat, he'd be much the same, but most of the time he found the nearest perch, or convenient updraft to hover in, and took his shots from a distance. The Hulk was not subtle, and didn't seem to care much for the intricacies of flight, only utilizing his wings as needed, with big, powerful strokes.

Then there was Tony, who was brilliant. Bucky liked watching him best. The suit was flashy, and beautiful, complementing his wings perfectly. Tony had showed him, one of those days down in the lab, the flexible metal rig that supported his wings while he was in the suit. Otherwise, there'd have been no way they would have withstood the g-forces he reached in the suit. Bucky was in complete awe, every time Tony took a high-speed dive and popped right back out of it like it was nothing at all.

It was beautiful, and addicting, and he was in too deep. Bucky knew this, and yet he went down to Tony's workshop the next day after his morning workout anyway.

He was just bored, he told himself. Steve was out, at some briefing at Shield, and he was bored. That was all.

When he got to the lab, Dummy greeted him, waving his one arm back and forth.

"Dummy, what are you doing? Stop that, I need that screwdriver – oh, hey Elsa," Tony said.

"Cold never bothered me anyway," he grumbled, just to see Tony laugh, which he did, throwing his head back in delight.

"You watched it?"

"Steve and I've been workin' down the list," Bucky admitted, finding a seat on the one stool that wasn't covered with metal parts, and patting Butterfingers when he rolled up next to him. "Whatcha workin' on?"

Tony immediately launched into an excited explanation, his wings fluttering and (inadvertently, he was sure) displaying. Bucky only followed about half of what he said, distracted by Tony's gorgeous wings, but the gist of it was that he was exploding something.

"Is this safe?" Bucky asked, suspiciously.

"Of course," Tony said, too fast. "You're here, and Dummy's got the fire extinguisher."

Dummy waved the extinguisher excitedly.

"Good, yes, careful with that thing, Dummy, or I'll send you to a community college," Tony warned, and the bot stopped. Bucky just glared at him.

"Aaaand I'm putting on protective eyewear?" Tony said, grabbing a pair of safety glasses out of a drawer. It was probably as good as he was gonna get, so Bucky relaxed. Tony grinned at him.

"Jarvis, start recording, file under test one," he said, turning back to his setup.

"Recording now, sir," Jarvis said.

"Go for takeoff, baby," Tony said, winking at Bucky, and pressed the button on the lab bench next to him.

The next few moments occurred in slow-motion, at least for Bucky.

The explosion billowed outwards, far bigger than expected, flames reaching toward Tony. Bucky threw himself over the frozen engineer, and then his wings instinctively flung themselves wide, as an extra shield against the fire. He screwed his eyes shut, trying not to think about how they moved unevenly, and let them take the brunt of the flames and debris.

As soon as it seemed like nothing was actively exploding anymore, he stood, letting Tony uncurl himself from beneath him. He tried to tuck his wings back in but shuddered as that action brought a fresh wave of agony radiating down his spine.

He gritted his teeth and made for the door, ignoring Tony's cries of… well, he really had no idea. His mind was hazy white with pain, and he couldn't think, except that he had to get away. Somehow, he made his way to his and Steve's apartment, stumbling through the door, and collapsing on the floor before he could even make it to the couch. Blood seeped from his feathers onto the carpet, and he shuddered uncontrollably.

"Bucky?" Steve's voice rippled, fading in and out. "Bucky! What happened? Your wing, it's – god, Bucky. Can you hear me? Who did this to you?"

"S'fine, Steve," Bucky slurred.

"It damn well isn't," he heard Steve insist, before he drifted off into blissful unconsciousness.

* * *

"What did you do to his wing?!" Steve yelled as he entered the semi-demolished lab, bristling wings raised up and ready for a fight. Tony was sitting on the floor, wings drooped around him, watching the bots as they cleaned up the mess. Steve paused.

"What the hell happened in here?" He demanded. Tony dragged one hand listlessly through his hair. Steve's fierce expression turned into something a trifle more concerned.

"Tony?" He tried, more gently. Tony twitched.

"Did you know?"

"Did I know what?"

"Did you know he'd lost half a wing?"

"No, of course not, I just saw it, didn't it just…," he trailed off in sudden realization, "…it didn't just happen."

"No," Tony said quietly.

"Oh," said Steve. "Sorry, I… there was a lot of blood. What – what did happen?"

"Explosion," Tony said, waving a hand expansively. "I was stupid. Flirting with your bff, not paying attention. He dragged me down and whipped the wings out just in time."

"This whole time, I've just thought he didn't want to fly, or something," Steve sighed heavily. Tony nodded blankly in agreement as Steve continued, "I never even guessed… god, I've been trying to get him to come up in the air with us every week, too."

For a minute, the lab was quiet save for the sound of the bots rolling around.

"Wait, did you say flirting? With Bucky?"

"Yeah," Tony sighed, with a self-deprecating smile. "Pretty sure I don't have a chance."

"Actually…" Steve said slowly. "I think you do."

Tony blinked at him. "Shit. You're serious?"

"He's always had a thing for short, spunky brunettes."

"It's fun size," Tony grumbled. "Besides, I only look short next to you two freakishly tall super-soldiers. Clint's only got one inch on me."

"You also slouch," Steve pointed out.

"Shut up."

"That's the spirit!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is master of avoidance. Luckily, Tony knows how to wait him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, surprise, I'm back! I hit a bit of a block with this one, and then RL got super busy (still is), but I've eked out another chapter here, so I hope you all enjoy it :)

Natalia found him right after Steve left.

She looked at his shuddering and broken body unemotionally, and then said, "I thought so."

He just glared at her.

"When you're tired, you tend to protect your left a little more," she said, going over to where they kept the first aid kit. Coming from her, 'a little bit' probably meant it was barely noticeable, but still. Bucky was ashamed at his weakness.

She knelt by his wing and glanced at him for permission. He hated it, but it was necessary.

He gave her a tight nod, and then scrunched his eyes shut and turned his face away. Within seconds, he passed out, and when he woke, she was gone, and he was alone.

He took his opportunity and disappeared.  
_____________________________________________________

Tony dropped his head on his workbench and groaned.

He didn't know what to do.

How do you go about finding a super-soldier assassin that didn't want to be found?

You don't, Tony had discovered, over the last week and a half. The former Winter Soldier had all but disappeared. Tony only knew he was still in the Tower because Jarvis was able to confirm that he was sleeping in his bed every night. How he got there without tripping any of his AI's sensors along the way, or any of Steve's senses, they didn't know.

Steve had been worried, too, because the silent avoidance treatment extended to him as well. Tony had to convince him, after the first few nights made it apparent that Bucky could sneak past everything to get to his bed, that he should just go to bed himself instead of trying to catch Bucky at it every night.

If he had to wait to talk, so be it. He'd wait until Bucky got complacent, and then he'd find him.  
__________________________________________________________________________________

It was weeks before Bucky started letting his guard down again, feeling a little more prepared to face the others.

He wasn't, however, prepared to be ambushed by Tony in the middle of the night, in the common room (again, how was he doing that?).

"They clipped my primaries," Tony blurted. Bucky's head shot up, and he looked, alarmed, at the large feathers on the outer edges of Tony's wings.

"In Afghanistan. Took months for them to grow back," Tony clarified, and Bucky relaxed again, although he was confused.

"What're you tellin' me this for?"

Tony paused. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe I just… know a little how you feel?"

"Know a little how I feel," Bucky scoffed, and it was like something broke loose. "I can't fly to save my life, my memory's blown to shit, everyone I used to know is dead except Steve, and I've got the blood of hundreds of people - hell, who even knows, maybe thousands, on my hands."

Tony stared at him for few seconds. "Couple hundred thousand."

"Scuse me?"

"That's my count, give or take. I can't really be sure of the final numbers either, considering all the double dealing." He grimaced. "They called me Merchant of Death, once. Some still do."

"That's… not the same," Bucky argued.

"It's not really much different," Tony said with a shrug, and flopped on the couch next to him. His wings fluttered anxiously, like they wanted to curl around him again, but they didn't. Bucky hated himself for wanting to feel those feathers.

"I killed your parents," Bucky reminded him harshly, hoping it would make him go away. Tony didn't even seem to be fazed.

"Would you kill them right now?"

"What?"

"If they were alive, right now, standing in front of you, would you kill them?"

"No!"

"See? There you go," Tony said, like he'd proved a point. Maybe he had, to himself. Bucky still wasn't sure what it was.

"You don't care?" he asked, still trying to figure him out.

"No, I do care," Tony said, frustration evident in his tone. "It's just… look, I was a terrible person, before Afghanistan. I'm still not a great person, but whatever. Lots of people gave me second chances, third chances, so on. I finally took the opportunity to try to be better, and… well, it would be pretty shitty of me not to offer you the same."

Bucky stared at him, but Tony's gaze didn't waver. Bucky broke first, ripping his eyes away to stare out the window into the dark night.

"Let me look at it," Tony said, softly. Bucky just shook his head. "I might be able to – "

"You can't do nothin', Stark," Bucky practically growled at him, and felt a perverse sense of satisfaction when the other man visibly drew back a little.

"Sorry, sorry," the genius said quickly, "I won't do anything, totally understand, boundaries and stuff, those are important, and – "

"S'not you," Bucky grumbled, because he really hated the self-deprecating apology spiral that Stark frequently went into. "I can't even look at it."

Even right now he could feel the damaged wing pressing up against his back and he shivered a little.

"I – we can work around that," Tony said after a brief pause. "If you want. J can just scan you. No touching, promise."

Bucky froze, thinking. If he closed his eyes and it was just Jarvis, then maybe –

"I'll think about it," he told Tony, voice a bit hoarse.

"Okay," said Tony, and Bucky could hear his excitement. "Just, uh, let me know. Or, I mean, you know your way to the lab, so. Oh, and could you maybe also think about talking to Steve, too? He keeps hanging around and sighing and making puppy dog eyes-" Bucky snorted at that, which Tony seemed to take as encouragement, "-and being mopey, it's just, really, I can't get any work done anymore, help a guy out, yeah?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'll think about it."


End file.
